Poetry Submission: Chicago

By A.M. Watson

I walk through a field

with concrete for grass

skyscrapers for trees

and people for buzzing bees

The air is musky

sometimes wet

sometimes dry

it’s an elixir of sweat

Michigan’s lake breeze

black smoke from buses and cars

and Corporate America’s dirty ass

I stand in the middle of a rusted bridge

above a murky green river

and under the lights of buildings

that I sometimes dream

would crumble and reveal the dead bodies

of the thousands of black children

whose bullets that are lodged

deep in their scalps

deep in their hearts

whose blood is ignored

and painted over

by cream colored castles

glass towers

that reflect

and absorb

the light of everyone else

except us.

That this city wasn’t built with us in mind

it was built to hide and wash over

our blackness.



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